« Whoever digs Stine is out of his mind! Just how disturbed can Stine be? And who the heck understands his stuff? Not me. » — H.C., Hollywood (not an understanding sort)
I must open this post with a thank-you note to my past self, for picking up, decades ago and who knows where and on a whim, a somewhat pricey book by a cartoonist I’d never heard of, Richard Stine. Obviously, just because he was unknown to me doesn’t mean he’s not a known quantity. Let’s just say he has his devoted fans, and I quite understand their passion.
This is the book in question, Sparks by Stine (1982). It seems to have been intended for self-promotion (in the sense of seeking assignments, that is), given the inscription it bears: « THIS PORTFOLIO IS NUMBER ___ OF A SPECIAL FIRST EDITION PUBLISHED BY THE ARTIST ». Mine’s number 433, and the date of November 15, 1982 appears below Mr. Stine’s signature. I believe a paperback edition of Sparks — with a different, full-colour cover — was published a few years later. That one’s easier to get.Excerpts from letters to the Los Angeles Herald Examiner, where most of the drawings in this book first appeared: « … just wonder in what kindergarten “Stine” studied drawing? And how much marijuana he smokes before dreaming up his alleged “cartoons”? » — R.K., ArkadiaA zinger of a riposte: « Even my children, aged five and three, understand Stine. Their reactions aren’t vehement, they enjoy the simple drawings. And they don’t even smoke marijuana! » — M.H., San Diego« … it is stupid, insipid, has no rhyme nor reason, and so very disgusting. His humor is indicative of a thoughtless mind. By the way — what DOES he use for brains? » — Ms. R., Los Angeles « … Stine’s drawings do mean something — he shouldn’t have dropped out of art school in his first year. » — P.H., Hollywood« I demand you review Stine’s employment, comparing his productivity with the detrimental effects of his abusive creations. » — R.W., staff writer, UCLA Daily Bruin« … while you have one of the best, if not THE best cartoonist in the country, namely Karl Hubenthal, you also have one of the lousiest, if not THE lousiest cartoonist in the country, namely Stine. » — C.H., Glendale« … will you PLEASE provide us with ” A key to the understanding of Stine” in the same way that the Rosetta Stone enabled us to “read” the Egyptian hieroglyphics. » — Mr. and Mrs. L.C., Los Angeles « You’re wonderful! Only those living in ignorance fear your “message.” It’s like getting nasty for the first time: once you go through the one-way door, you’ll never be “nasty” again! I adore you. » — K.I., Venice
I won’t try to dig too deep into Stine’s oeuvre, as others — fellow blogger Ann Canright, for one — have already done a splendid job of it. What I have learned by now is that he was, circa « … a former cartoonist for the now-defunct Los Angeles Herald Examiner*, publisher of cards and author of two books… [then ] became a full-time painter. »
And thereby hangs a tale, as the saying goes:
« Five years ago I decided to go back to painting. I started really small because I was used to working that way for publishing », Stine said. « I was working with magnifying glasses on my head and thought, ‘I need to get up and breathe and walk.‘ »
He pushed away the 3-inch-by-3-inch canvases and liberated himself size-wise, design-wise and attitude-wise. He stretched a canvas that « was bigger and taller than me », he said, and immediately felt free. [ source ]
He had by then moved from California to Bainbridge Island, in Washington state. And then… on to New Zealand, homeland of his wife Margaret. « Richard, now in his 80’s is still experimenting, exploring and creating and boy does it show in his playful spirit. » [ source ]
-RG
*Do read the history of the LA Herald Examiner if you get the chance… gripping stuff, imho.
Back of Bob Foster’s Myron Moose no. 1 (Myron Moose Comic Book Works, 1971); this art print was also released years later, as can be seen by the date on it.
We are technically a three-cat household — that’s how many cats we had decided we could comfortably handle. For a while we stuck to this number, and when one cat departed, another one would come to take his place. Then number four walked through the door — he was sort of a part-time cat, until he became decidedly one of ours. Well, four isn’t that much more work than three. When number five appeared, bedraggled, underfed and with a perpetually sad expression (‘he had that look you very rarely find — the haunting, hunted kind‘, to quote Tim Rice), we wanted to give him to a rescue society… and of course ended up keeping him.
Albert Dubout (born as lbert Dubout, 1905-1976), was primarily an illustrator of books (notably, his amical collaboration with French writer San-Antonio, many of whose novels proudly bore Dubout’s covers and inside illustrations), and, with equal talent, a cartoonist and poster designer (check out some of his film posters here), not to mention a calligrapher with a number of delightfully mellifluous signatures. His official website can be found here, in case you want to take a peek.
The following excerpts have been scanned from Les chats (Editions Hoebeke, 1999).
*I don’t like Hemingway at all, but I do have a certain grudging respect for a man who kept some 40+ cats. Rhetorical question: are cats living at that high a density within one house really having a good time?
« He made the cat his own. He invented a cat style, a cat society, a whole cat world. British cats that do not look and live like Louis Wain cats are ashamed of themselves.» — H. G Wells
British artist Louis William Wain (1860-1939) had one of those lives that capture one’s imagination* – from a sensitive child born with a facial defect (a cleft lip) and prone to terrifying nightmares, to a youth that would wander around London instead of attending classes, to ultimately a man committed to the pauper ward of a mental asylum. Along the way, he married a lower-class woman ten years his senior despite the scandal this caused, lost her three years later to breast cancer, and produced thousands of cat drawings and paintings.
Wain started out as a illustrator of country scenes, houses and estates, livestock at shows, and so on, for publications like Illustrated Sporting, Dramatic News, and The Illustrated London News. His wife’s Emily’s health decline gave Wain the push into feline territory, as he consoled her with caricatures of their cat Peter during her illness. Emily pushed him to try and get this work published, so he showed some drawings to the editor of The Illustrated London News, for which he was freelancing. He was commissioned to paint A Kittens’ Christmas Party, which featured 150 frolicking kittens, took 11 days to finish, and was an instant hit. Emily died soon after in 1887.
Some sources say 200 kittens, I didn’t count them.
Source diverge – according to some, in his grief, Wain threw himself heart and soul into cats and animals in general – he was involved in animal charities and championed a better treatment for animals, including fighting against the routine muzzling of dogs. In another version, he Emily’s death was a ‘merciful release’ and threw himself into work, ended up being considered a ‘cat expert’ just because he drew so many of them (and had distinctly outlandish ideas of their physiology). This can be said of much of Wain’s life, actually – the basic facts are known, but interpretations of the whys and hows vary wildly.
His first cat Peter was black-and-white with a white forehead, and his prototype often appeared in illustrations.
It goes without saying that Wain doubtlessly influenced generations of future artists. These days art with anthropomorphized felines is quite a humdrum sighting, given how much our current culture is obsessed with cats. In this context, it may be hard to recall that several centuries ago people often thought of cats from a practical standpoint, as somewhat filthy-yet-useful vermin-destroyers. This began to change during the Victorian era, and surely Wain’s cats, omnipresent in newspapers and magazines, accelerated this shift in thinking.**
Wain was an immensely prolific artist, but sadly that did not guarantee him a peaceful and wealthy life. When he was 20, his father died, leaving Wain to financially support his mother and sisters, so he had a heavy burden to bear from a young age. By all accounts a modest man, he was quite naïve about financial matters, a walking demonstration of the financially inept artist stereotype***. He often gave his art away, or sold it without retaining copyright, which meant no royalties despite all sorts of merchandise with his cats – postcards, books, toys, biscuit tins, china, et j’en passe. His work was so ubiquitous at some point that publishers did not need to pay him for new material, they could just go on reprinting in perpetuity with nothing but financial gain to themselves while Wain got further into debt.
These cats are obviously cute, but I think what makes them interesting is that Wain would satirize what he saw around him. He might have been an impractical dreamer, but he had a keen eye for human flaws.
He also produced a series of designs for ceramic cats (and some pigs and dogs as well). These sculptures were exhibited in 1914, but did not result in significant sales. A shipment of cats headed for the United States was taken down by a German U-boat torpedo, and that was it – Wain’s financial investment was lost.
« By the time the war broke in 1914, Wain found himself struggling to find a market amid the wartime paper shortage. By the 1920s, he was in poverty. His depression continued, and his mental health deteriorated. Often known to strike out in violent and erratic ways, he was eventually committed to the pauper ward of London’s Springfield Mental Hospital in 1924. »
A lot of articles about him focus on mental issues. Did his wife’s death push him into some form of dementia? Was it just hereditary (one of his sisters was committed when he was 30)? Was he autistic? Was he schizophrenic? The former is a more modern view, whereas the latter theory was proposed by psychiatrist Dr. Walter Maclay in 1939 and stuck when he made a whole case out of it.
«Maclay collected the work of artists suffering with mental illness and in 1939 he came across eight pictures by Louis Wain in a shop, which he arranged in an assumed chronological order to demonstrate the progression of the schizophrenic mind. His theory was that as the sequence of cat illustrations became more fragmented, so too had the artist’s mental state deteriorated. […] The series of drawings, now known as ‘Kaleidoscope Cats’, became a popular visual example of the schizophrenic mind. Long gone was the Edwardian interpretation of Wain’s work as ‘charming’ and ‘humorous’. Instead, his art was often presented as ‘psychotic’ or ‘disturbed’, both words used in a major exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum in 1972.» [source]
Perhaps it’s a modern perspective, but what on earth is ‘psychotic’ about this image?His later work, colourful and somewhat surreal, has been identified by some as an important precursor to psychedelic art.
I think it’s quite depressing to think of Louis Wain first and foremost as an interesting case of mental illness. While it’s an important topic to address, it’s hard not to interpret this emphasis as a side-effect of the human tendency to bask in someone else’s tragedy – we’re avid of gory details and stories that support the general consensus that artists are tortured souls fighting inner demons. Perhaps that’s what reassures ‘normal’ people – we may not be brilliant or creative, but at least we have a healthy psyche! Except that we don’t, but that’s a conversation for another day.
«It is also highly possible that his experimentation in style was inspired by the family’s background in textile design. […] Indeed, these later kaleidoscopic cat patterns were often constructed around a clear grid system, revealing them as careful compositions rather than the product of impulsiveness coming from someone who is gradually losing his perceptive skills. Additionally, some of Wain’s later work was figurative and proves that he continued to be an accomplished and coherent artist whilst in a mental health care setting.» [source]
In 1930, Wain was transferred to Napsbury, which had a colony of cats, and stayed there fairly peacefully until his death in 1939. I hope he’s surrounded by friendly cats, wherever he may be now.
~ ds
* As a matter of fact, a movie about his life, The Electrical Life of Louis, was released in 2021 .
** I am obviously not saying that Wain introduced anthropomorphism to art, as that has been around since the days of early human history, but he did make a large dent in the public’s perception of cats.
*** Such skills have to be taught, as artistic temperament need not necessarily go hand-in-hand the inability to handle everyday matters such as finance, but add that to the list of ‘things we should do as a society’.
Underground comix artist Kim Deitch probably doesn’t need much of an introduction, other than perhaps to mention that he’s the son of amazing illustrator/animator Gene Deitch, about whom we have talked before (see Back When ‘Hipster’ Wasn’t a Dirty Word: Gene Deitch’s The Cat). For the most part, I respect more than enjoy K. Deitch’s work, appreciating his style and attention to detail, but unable to maintain more than a passing interest in the dream logic of his tales. The story we are sharing today charmed me, as it combines his typical soaring and detail-driven landscapes with a really fun ‘what if?’ plot and a clear appreciation for cats, always an advantage for an artist, in my book.
These Cats Today! comes from the pages of Big Fat Little Lit (2006, Puffin), which collects most material from the three volumes of Little Lit, Art Spiegelman and Françoise Mouly’s anthology that featured comics created for children by a varied roster of artists (a lot of whom have collaborated with Spiegelman on RAW), as well as some Golden Age additions by the likes of by Walt Kelly, Crockett Johnson, and Basil Wolverton. School Library Journal described it as ‘a sensational introduction to traditional literature for a visually sophisticated generation‘. If by ‘traditional literature’ they mean ‘traditional folk tales’ (before they got bowdlerized*), then sure. The stories of Big Fat Little Lit are cynical and pleasantly warped; people get beheaded, eaten, and transformed, and often find that what they thought would bring them happiness just engenders its own problems.
Actually, it was quite difficult to select which story to run, as this anthology is packed with wicked goodies, but this whimsical tale won out (my other favourites are by Kaz, Maurice Sendak, Richard Sala and Joost Swarte, and may yet pop up in another post). Note that if you look beyond the surface of These Cats Today!, you’ll find plenty of cruelty in this fun narrative – dogs enslaved to power up the majestic and glittering Katropolis, force-fed stuffed mice**, these details are briefly mentioned, yet in plain view for those perceptive enough to notice. Truly, for its seeming gentleness, this story belongs into the Little Lit line-up.
« A black cat crossing in front of a person signifies that the animal is going somewhere. » — Jack Oakie
Oftentimes, tackling such a milestone as Bill Holman‘s Smokey Stover (1935-1972) comic strip is simply too daunting a task. Judging from the evidence (and evidence of absence), I’m not alone in being so cowed: despite the feature’s undeniable and pivotal importance, there hasn’t been a reprint collection solely devoted to it* since 1985, when San Diego Comic-Con founder Shel Dorf and Blackthorne Publishing issued a humble volume in their Comic-Strip Preserves series. Humble it was, but packed to the rafters with Holman’s delightfully surreal wit and screwball genius. A mere 72 pages in the comic book format, but hours of reading, thanks to the astounding density of their contents.
If one were to take Wikipedia at its word, one might loudly rejoice at Hermes Press’ 2012 release of Smokey Stover and Spooky the Cat: The Collected Sundays. But, as an Amazon reviewer archly quipped, circa 2017, « It’s difficult to write a review when the book has not been published. » The ensuing five years have not improved the panorama one bit.
Well, I’m not going to explore Smokey Stover on this occasion… but will instead sneak a squint at its equally delightful ‘topper‘, Spooky the Cat. Since you rightly might ask:
« A topper in comic strip parlance is a small secondary strip seen along with a larger Sunday strip. In the 1920s and 1930s, leading cartoonists were given full pages in the Sunday comics sections, allowing them to add smaller strips and single-panel cartoons to their page. »
An ad from the syndicate promoting Smokey Stover (and its topper); it saw print in trade magazine Editor & Publisher’s August 21, 1937 issue.From Sunday, June 27, 1937. From Sunday, January 24, 1943. From Sunday, Fooly, er, July 20, 1941. From Sunday, July 4th (of course!), 1948. From Sunday, September 12, 1948. From Sunday, February 19, 1950. Ah, one of the classic cartooning archetypes: the hobo, complete with trusty polka-dot bindle and stick (which technically makes him a ‘bindlestiff’).From Sunday, July 6, 1952. I could swear Holman meant to call the man Prof. Larynx, but then he wasn’t what you’d call a spelling whiz. From Sunday, July 20, 1952. Incidentally, Spooky’s fez-sporting owner is Fenwick Flooky. There — now you’ve been introduced. From Sunday, July 27, 1969. Gotta love a guy who’s kind to his animal companion, not to mention resourceful in doing so.Sorry, date unknown! However, its original art was thus dedicated to a peer by the artist: “To my genius friend Alpo Q. Jaffee, fire-ever – Bill Holman ’76“.
The credibly devoted student of the comics would be ill-advised to underestimate the size of Holman’s footprint in the field: were they still around, it’s a cinch that Basil Wolverton, Jack Cole, Boody Rogers and Harvey Kurtzman would be quick to confirm Holman’s influence on their work. And that’s just some of his more-or-less contemporary peers.
Well, Kurtzman did in fact explicitly go on the record on that point, in the course of his introduction to the Blackthorne collection:
« Those outrageously outrageous and the nonsense words that appeared in no particular place for no particular reason. ‘Foo!’ ‘Notary Sojac.‘ Could it be that that’s what inspired me to ‘Potzrebie‘ and ‘furshlugginer‘? Was it Holman’s technique, those ‘tchochkas‘ in all corners of the panels? Picture portraits, with the portraits come to life, jumping out of their frames? Could that have been what inspired us to fill our MAD Magazine panels with those nonsensical details? Could that have been it?
I think so, Bill Holman. I think that you stamped my young, impressionable, brain with your indelible ink. So ‘Foo’ to you and many more ‘Notary Sojacs’, Bill Holman. You made me what I am today, I hope you’re satisfied. »
A clear Spooky prototype, down to the tail bandage, from Judge‘s January, 1935 issue.
-RG
*I may be too old-fashioned to quite take into account print-on-demand reprint collections, but let’s face it, sometimes that’s all you get.
Who's Out There? 